


watching it fall (no moon at all)

by hito



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Christmas!, Fluff, M/M, Ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito/pseuds/hito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey and Mike have been penpals for years, and they would both like to take their friendship further. Unfortunately, neither of them has been completely honest with the other, and when they finally meet the truth will have to come out. Well, maybe. </p>
<p>Suits AU of <i>Christmas in Boston</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is, but I know that I blame Patrick J Adams and also Christmas. *shakes fist at sky* CHRISTMAS!

Harvey Specter steps off the elevator and strides through the corridors of Pearson Hardman, nodding at Jessica as he passes her on the way to his office. 

"Sign my birthday card!" Donna carols at him from her desk outside his door. "It's on your keyboard." 

"I'll write it at lunch," Harvey decides. "I'm busy this morning." 

"You wrote it already," Donna tells him, and places a precise finger on the pristine surface of her work space. "It's going here. Your sentiments are touching, Harvey, truly, though less than I deserve." 

"Ain't that the truth," Harvey says with a wry grin, whirling into his office. 

He drops his briefcase by his chair, signs the card with a flourish, and checks his email. 

Donna is tapping her nails on Harvey's credit card, flipping between tabs while she attempts to decide between the Jimmy Choos and the Pradas when a truly startling noise emanates from the intercom. 

Harvey _squeaks_. 

His face is blank when she spins around to stare through the glass wall in politely incredulous disbelief, but Donna knows what she heard. 

And then Harvey Specter looks up at her, helpless panic in his eyes, and says, " _Crap_." 

* 

Harvey takes Donna to her favourite restaurant for lunch, both because it's her birthday and because he hopes the bribery will spare him the worst of her schadenfreude. Unfortunately, the food is going to waste: Donna's fork is frozen in midair as she listens to him relate the whole sorry story. He suspects it's only her imperturbability that's preventing her from catching flies. 

"So, let me get this straight," she says when he falls silent. Her voice is both smooth and trembling with laughter. "Wait, _why_ did you let him think you were a girl?" 

"It was a requirement of the assignment," Harvey repeats waspishly. "Your penpal had to be of the opposite gender." 

"So your little email buddy--" 

"Penpal. Personal computers didn't become common until--" 

"Don't care," Donna interrupts sweetly. "So you lied to this kid for a grade for a couple months--what was the grade, by the way?" 

"I was accounted a decent human being," Harvey says lightly, "and even then it was a novel experience for me." 

"The assignment wasn't graded," Donna says, glee hidden behind her dry accuracy. "And then you let him continue to believe you were female for _fifteen years_. And to think. I wouldn't have said you'd had a relationship that had lasted fifteen months." 

"Scotty," Harvey rebuts, kneejerk, and then, "This isn't a relationship!" 

Donna's lips twitch as she sips her water. She doesn't even try to hide it. "And now he's interviewing as an associate." 

"Not for us. He didn't go to Harvard." 

"So you won't have to face him in court for at _least_ \--" 

Donna makes a face as she does the math in her head. 

Harvey is not impressed. "Anyway," he continues, getting to the crux of the matter at last, "he thinks we should meet if we're going to be moving in the same circles." 

"That makes sense," Donna says earnestly, sincere gaze holding Harvey's, and then she throws back her head and cackles. 

It's an _evil_ cackle. Harvey narrows his eyes at her, widening them only in view of the favour he's about to ask. 

He takes a sip of his own water first, but only because he's thirsty; there's no dilly-dallying involved. 

"So a couple years ago I caved and sent him a picture," he admits. 

"You--" Donna cocks her head in puzzlement. "This is getting too complicated for me. Does he think you're transgendered? Because you could probably work with that." 

"I sent him a picture of you," Harvey says, and Donna blinks at him, and then throws back her head and laughs and laughs and laughs. 

Harvey doesn't blame her. 

*

Mike is half-asleep when he rolls over in the small double bed and jostles Trevor, disconnecting the earbuds from his phone. Loud, rhythmic groaning issues from the speaker before Trevor taps the screen and shuts it off. 

"I can't believe you're watching porn beside me in bed." Mike rubs at the bridge of his nose, attempting to alleviate the low-grade stress headache that's been a constant presence since he began to plan the trip to New York. 

"Yes you can," Trevor says with a grin. "I can't believe you're so freaked out about this chick that you're not watching it with me." 

"Christ," Mike says, the fresh reminder waking him up and weighing him down. "Can we just not?" 

"Why don't you want to talk about your girl?" Trevor asks, but he's muted the phone and unpaused the video, so Mike has significantly less than his full attention. 

"Harley is not my girl," he mutters. 

"Well, maybe you'll have more luck with her when you land this job," Trevor suggests vaguely. "She's into all that ritzy crap, right?" 

"She has a certain refinement," Mike agrees. "But she isn't under any illusion that I'm refined, so the job wouldn't really make that much difference." 

"So if her expectations are already low--" 

"No, that isn't right. This job is going to ruin my life." Mike makes a conflicted face. "If I get it. Maybe I won't get it. Maybe I shouldn't tell her until I find out if I get it." 

"Tell her what?" 

Mike looks at Trevor, and laughs while he still can. "Her expectations aren't low, they're completely unrealistic." 

"She does seem kind of high maintenance," Trevor says, eyes on the glowing screen of his phone. "But deeply into you, man, relax. It's totally obvious." 

"Harley isn't into me," Mike says, words coming out automatically, having thought them so often. He frowns. "How would you even know?" 

"I read all your letters while you were asleep on the train," Trevor explains. 

"I feel like I should be shocked and outraged, but not only have we met, we've been friends for decades. I'm more shocked I _didn't_ expect that." 

"They were really boring. You can both do better." 

"I can't--wait, we can both do better?" 

"She's hot," Trevor tells him, like that's something Mike doesn't already know. "Like a sexy, strict librarian, or maybe a secretary who bends over to pick something up while she isn't wearing any panties and--" 

"Stop watching porn," Mike instructs curtly. "This is important." 

"But it's happening right now!" Trevor tries to show him the screen, but Mike bats him away. 

"So you saw her photo." 

"Yeah." 

"When we exchanged pictures, the one I sent was not exactly--representative." Mike opens his arms wide and gestures despairingly at himself. "Of this. Of me." 

Trevor stares at him blankly. "Did you photoshop your hair? Because that just shows judgement, and women know you can fix these things. She'll understand." 

"No--what's wrong with my hair?" Trevor gazes dubiously at it, and Mike shakes the distraction off. "Okay, so." He takes a breath. "I sent her a picture of you." 

The phone falls away as Trevor gapes at him. 

"Why would you do that?" 

Mike shrugs helplessly. "She sent one first! You saw her! And you remember me when I was younger, right?" 

"There was nothing wrong with you when you were younger," Trevor protests, not entirely convincingly. 

"I was half the weight I am now and my zits had zits," Mike says flatly. "I wasn't sending her my picture." 

"And now you're going to be facing each other across court," Trevor says. "Does she work for your firm?" 

"It isn't my firm," Mike says quickly. "I don't know. Probably! She went to Harvard." 

"So why are we doing this? This is dumb." 

"I have to tell her," Mike says. It's the first time he's said it out loud. "I just have to tell her, I have to--throw myself on her mercy and hope that she'll--" 

"Are you _insane_?" Trevor asks incredulously. "Women don't have mercy, Mike. This is the stupidest thing you've ever done. We should get back on the train right now. I was wrong. She won't understand. You should cut your losses." 

There'd been a reason Mike hadn't confided in Trevor. He wishes he hadn't chosen to do it while they were sharing a bed, because Trevor is looming over him, finger poking him in the centre of the chest, and it's difficult not to be swayed by his assurance and authority. 

"No," he says. It sounds weak, so he swallows and looks away from Trevor. "No, I'm going to tell her. Maybe she won't forgive me, but I'm going to see what happens." He lets out a slight laugh. "Maybe it will be okay. This could be okay." His voice sounds better, more hopeful, and he almost believes that this might actually work out. 

Trevor makes a disgusted sound in his throat. "This is going to be a disaster. We shouldn't even bother." 

"Right," Mike says, and snaps off the light, turning his back on Trevor and settling down for what's sure to be a restless night's sleep. 

Trevor goes back to his porn. 


	2. Chapter 2

New York in Christmas week is more New York than Mike has ever seen it, shining and bright and dirty and distant and definite. Mike and Trevor are weaving past the line outside FAO Schwarz on their way to grab some food. Mike would like to go inside, but he kind of feels like he'd need to kidnap a kid to gain legitimate access; it would be too weird and embarrassing otherwise. 

"No," Trevor says, when he sees where Mike's eyes are fixed. 

"They have Schweets," Mike tells him. "And the Big piano. And don't you want me to take your picture with Iron Man?" 

"No," Trevor says. "And how do you even know that?" 

"I could be a build-a-Muppet," Mike says wistfully. 

"You already _are_ a Muppet." Trevor keeps walking, and Mike doesn't let himself crane his head over his shoulder. "That place sucked when we were kids and everything sucks worse now." 

"It only sucked because we could never buy anything." 

"You're unemployed," Trevor reminds Mike. "And you have no children to shop for." 

"I haven't been in there since my family moved." 

Trevor doesn't care. "So are you more freaked out about lying to your potential future employer or lying to your potential future ex?" he asks. 

"Shut up," Mike mutters, and speeds up, bypassing the wandering tourist in front of him and joining the flow of quickly moving New Yorkers. He falls back into the purposeful, decisive rhythm of the city without thought. 

* 

"Are you serious?" Donna asks Harvey. "Because I'll do this, but I'm not taking any responsibility when it all goes horribly wrong." 

"I'm serious," Harvey reassures her. "I'm sure about this. What other option do I have?" 

"You could tell the truth," Donna tells him tartly. "It's Christmas, and I'm told that confession is good for the something or other, I don't know, I wasn't paying attention. But you could tell the truth." 

"Clearly, I have no other options." 

"So when is this Best Decision Ever happening?" 

"He said something about dinner tomorrow night," Harvey says. "I have those interviews in the afternoon, so you'll have to cut out early and go home to get ready." 

"So I can look good for your boyfriend," Donna agrees, nodding. "Obviously." 

Harvey glowers. "Or maybe you can just bring a dress in and change in the restroom." 

"Oh, no," Donna says. "I own nothing at all that is suitable for such an occasion. I'm going to have to pick something up on my lunch hour. I'm thinking Tom Ford. Don't worry, I still have your credit card from my birthday." 

"Tom Ford." 

"Verisimilitude!" 

"Of course." Harvey forces himself to maintain a semblance of grace. "Did you read my notes?" 

"I read your notes." 

"Good." Harvey wants to ask her to read them again, but this is Donna, and a request like that would be insulting. 

"Bike riding," she says. "Really." 

"It's a respectable form of exercise," Harvey says defensively. "It's practical, too." 

"Does he wear skinny jeans? Ooh, velvet blazer!" 

"No," Harvey says, wincing. "I don't know." 

"Definitely skinny ties," Donna decides. 

"You can handle things from here," Harvey tells her in disgust, and leaves to work on something that is less likely to drive him round the bend. 

As it transpires, reading the curricula vitae of recent Harvard graduates doesn't really cut it. 

*

Mike is not a huge fan of Christmas music to begin with, and the music being piped into the elevator is a children's choir doing _Away in a Manger_ , which is far from the cream of Christmas music, so he's doubly irritated by the time the elevator reaches his floor and he can get off. 

The hotel is nice, Mike supposes, certainly much nicer than the one he's staying in with Trevor, but it's bland and utilitarian, and much less impressive than he'd expected from a law firm of Pearson Hardman's stature. 

"Why am I here?" Trevor asks. 

"In case I need you for anything," Mike mutters. 

"You're not going to need me for anything. You know everything about me, Mike, and you know more than any sane person should about law." 

"You're a lawyer too." This is true, even if Mike had taken exams and written essays and otherwise contributed to making that happen. 

"Yeah, but you're like Google. If you'd gone to Harvard this job would be yours in a second." 

"I need a drink," Mike exhales as they reach the desk, taking their place behind the man already there. 

"Don't bring alcohol to job interviews or drink it beforehand," Trevor tells him. "That's some Harvard-learnin' for ya. Freebie." 

Mike tries really hard not to feel jealous or resentful of Trevor, with his unearned SAT scores and his unwritten college entrance essays and his scholarship to Harvard, but sometimes Trevor makes it difficult. Mike is craving something to take the edge off his nerves, but he'd only ever done that kind of thing with Trevor, and Trevor had stopped as a teenager, after getting jumped by his dealer one too many times. 

Mike hadn't been there for the aftermath of the final time, but he thinks he remembers the weeks Trevor had spent in hospital all the more sharply because he'd spent so long alone, apart, imagining it. 

The man in front of them turns around. His suit is nicer than Mike's, which doesn't matter to Mike, but might to Pearson Hardman. 

"If the person interviewing you isn't buying you a drink at the finish, you're doing it wrong," he says, giving Trevor a sharp smile. 

"You haven't seen my boss," Trevor says. "I'd rather she _didn't_ want to take me out." He stretches out his arm for a handshake. Mike doesn't think the pause before he speaks would be noticeable to anyone else. "Mike Ross." 

The pause before the man in the suit speaks is significantly more obvious. "Don Paulsen," he says eventually. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

"Trevor Evans," Mike says. 

The man's handshake is mechanical. "You're interviewing. I'll take you through. Let me just ask my colleague to hold the fort." There's an odd strain in his manner, and then he turns back to Trevor and calls, "Harley!" 

A door opens briefly, giving Mike a quick glance at document boxes on the table inside, and Harley steps out. It's possible she's more beautiful in person. 

"Oh," she says, staring at Trevor. "Hello." 

"This way," Don says, and leads Mike away, not looking back. 

Mike rubbernecks like his life depends on it, and then the door shuts behind them, and everything that matters is gone and Mike is alone with Don, interviewing for a job he doesn't care about anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This references events of the pilot, and at least one line has been lifted directly.

"So," Don starts, "your CV was decidedly unimpressive." 

"Hey!" Mike protests, and then he remembers they're talking about Trevor's CV. "It isn't the most accurate representation of me as an individual." 

Don raises an eyebrow. "It's designed to allow you to sell yourself on your good points and conceal your defects. It is a useless barrage of information that makes me wish you were all dead and unable to apply for this job. Your point is?" 

"That I shouldn't be judged on my lack of paperwork expertise," Mike says confidently. "Filling paperwork in correctly and filing it on time is important, but I don't think it's a problem that I didn't take some bullshit English course so I could waste my time writing a CV. That just gets you in the door." He spreads his arms, demonstrating his success. 

Mike thinks Don looks mildly impressed, but the man tamps it down quickly, and he can't be sure. "And you don't think your lack of application would cause us problems." 

"No," Mike says. "I will make more effort than you would have thought possible when it's necessary. I will work as hard as it takes to become the best lawyer you've ever seen." 

"Well, Mr. Evans, your history shows no sign of such industry." 

Mike scoffs, and Don looks up from the sheaf of papers on the desk. "You just called that a useless document. Stop treating it as a bible now." 

"You knew you'd be judged on it," Don says, sounding reluctantly interested, and Mike takes the opening. 

"I wrote it four months ago, before I had even finished college. The fact that you're taking it seriously says more about you than it does about me." 

"You submitted it," Don says, and his voice is hard now. 

"There's a reason you interview. If you can't see beyond that it's your problem, not mine." 

Don leans back in his chair, looking massively irritated. "You're a dumbfuck," he says. Mike cheerfully agrees, watching as Don brightens up despite himself. "I'm not sure if your acknowledgment of your idiocy is obnoxious or encouraging." 

"I'm no more idiotic than any of the other candidates for this position," Mike says, and watches Don's face change to reflect the truth of that. Mike's mind is barely in the room, thoughts outside with Trevor and Harley, and he's vaguely surprised he hasn't been thrown out already. He taps the BarBri Legal Handbook sitting on the desk. "And I know more about this stuff than any of them. More than you, probably." 

The door opens, and Harley leans in. Don's surprised expression fades from Mike's awareness, along with everything else in the room. Harley seems kind of twitchy. 

"You almost done in here?" she asks, jerking her head backwards, presumably towards Trevor. "I could use you outside." 

"No," Don says, sounding surprised, and then corrects himself quickly. "Yes, I'll be out shortly, just give me five to finish up." 

Harley appears to brace herself before shutting the door. Mike is going to kill Trevor. 

He's distracted, but so is Don, so he thinks the rest of the interview goes as well as can be expected. He shows off a little, demonstrates his recall of the text, and then Don tests his understanding of stock option backdating, and Mike pulls out Sarbanes-Oxley and crushes it. 

Don looks interested for a moment, and then he pushes his book away and says, "So, Trevor, you brought a friend along to your interview?" 

"Mike is staying in the hotel," he lies. "We were going to get a drink after." 

"Hmm," Don says, and frowns suddenly. "I didn't think he had a job." 

"What?" 

"A job. He's supposed to be interviewing for a position as an associate elsewhere, but when we spoke outside he mentioned his boss." 

"Oh." Mike blinks, smiles easily. "He worked in a diner during college." 

"I thought he quit." 

"Did you," Mike says. "And you would know that how?" 

Don doesn't exactly turn squirrelly, but there's something in the set of his face that tells Mike he's about to lie even before he speaks. "Harley told me. She knows your friend, you know. They're penpals, if you can believe it. She told me why he was in town." 

"Right." Mike stares at Don for a second, taking in all the details, the slicked-back hair, the casual arrogance of his controlled sprawl, the tension around his eyes. 

"For which firm is Mike interviewing?" 

"I'm not sure," Mike says. "We haven't had the chance to discuss it." 

"You didn't go to college together," Don presses. "How did you become friends?" 

"Middle school," Mike tells him. "I, uh--Mike's family moved away after that, and he didn't want to go to college out of state, so we haven't gotten to spend all that much time together, but we always kept in contact." 

Don opens his mouth to ask another question, but there's a bang on the door and he smiles wryly instead, standing up and reaching out for Mike's hand. 

It's a good handshake, warm and reassuring, and Mike holds onto Don's hand while he asks, "Going to buy me a drink now?" 

Don laughs. "You weren't that good." 

"I could be," Mike says apologetically. "I'm a little distracted." 

It takes longer than it should for Mike to comprehend the amused understanding in Don's face, but he supposes he can't really blame the man. He is shockingly hot, and Mike is still holding his hand. 

He releases Don and turns to the door. "Let's see how things are going." 

Harley is smiling at Trevor, but Mike can feel the frostiness from all the way across the room. 

She smiles glitteringly at Don. "Mike here was just attempting to arrange our outing later on," she says. "But since we've met already I don't think it's necessary anymore." 

"You're going," Don snaps. 

She glares, and then the blinding smile is dazzling everybody into forgetting that ever happened. "I didn't bring any money today," she says sweetly. "And apparently Mike doesn't have enough to cover us either." 

"You're staying at the Chilton," Don protests. Trevor is baffled, but he covers it pretty well. "Never mind. You're still going." 

"I suppose I should," Harley says judiciously. "I did pick up that new Tom Ford, and there's no point buying a sports car if you're not going to drive it." 

"This is going to be so much fun," Trevor says wholeheartedly. 

"No," Harley tells him, poisonously sweet. 

"It's going to be something," Don says, and then, to Harley, "You'll have a good time." It sounds like an instruction. 

"You're working," Mike says. 

Harley looks at him for the first time, smiling blandly. "I certainly am!" 

"We won't disturb you. It was really great to meet you." 

She nods brightly, walks over to the desk, and hovers there while Don glares at her. 

"See you later!" Trevor calls, as Mike drags him onto the elevator. 

Harley and Don watch the doors slide shut. Mike frowns. 

"She's hotter in person," Trevor decides. "She could be in porn. She's hotter than that secretary from last night." 

"She's a lawyer," Mike says abstractedly, but he's thinking about the way she'd stood by that desk, about the colour of her lipstick and the cut of her skirt. "And I think she wears underwear, Trevor." 

"I can work with underwear," Trevor objects. 

Mike should be telling him that he isn't doing any kind of working on Harley, but instead he pulls out his phone and does something he'd sworn years ago he never would: he Googles Harley Specter. 

Google asks him if he means _Harvey _.__


	4. Chapter 4

The picture of Harvey Specter on the Pearson Hardman website is a bland studio shot that features neither cloven hooves nor demonically red eyes, and his bio offers a thorough rundown of his academic qualifications and professional accomplishments but makes no mention of his deceitful, fraudulent character, so Mike has already given the site up as a useless piece of crap when he realises that it doesn't offer any information at all on Harvey Specter's secretary. 

That's easily fixed, though. Mike dials reception at the law firm, suggests to the woman who answers that he wants to send Harvey's watchdog a little Christmas inducement to future consideration, and gets a name: Donna Paulsen. 

He doesn't know what to do for a second after he hangs up, and then Trevor gets out of the shower and solves that problem for him. 

" _Fuck_ those assholes!" 

Or not. 

"I think that might make the situation worse," Mike mumbles. 

"She--he is a total _dick_! That is a dick move!" 

"Yeah, Harl--Harvey's always been kind of a dick, I guess. I mean, remember all those things she told me and I thought she was just on the rag? He _wasn't!_ " 

Trevor looks as flabbergasted by that as Mike feels. "Dick move for _fifteen years_ , Mike!" 

"Yeah," Mike says, and nods mechanically. The more he thinks about it, the less real it seems. 

"That has to be some kind of record," Trevor says thoughtfully, and he's sliding dangerously towards impressed, so Mike slams the door shut on that. 

"I just need to tell him. I need to tell him that he's a lying dicksmack and this thing is done." 

That feels real. It feels terrible, despite everything. Mike runs the thought through his mouth again, just to check: "We're done." 

"Yeah," Trevor agrees. "That's what I'll say. You know, as you." 

"Ah," Mike says awkwardly. "Right." He hadn't exactly forgotten that little issue, but it hadn't seemed important in the face of Harvey's deception. He lets the words slide out, testing. "You'll speak to Harvey as me." Now he feels like shit on top of crap. Great. 

"And maybe when I call him a dicksmack I can _actually_ \--" 

"No," Mike says. "No. I'll handle Harvey. You take Donna." 

*

Mike isn't sure why he ends up back at Pearson Hardman, loitering outside the doors. He had some vague idea of talking his way inside and confronting Harvey, but he has no idea how he would do that or if he even wants to, and if he can't even make it past the front door there's no way he's going to make it past the receptionist. 

He's steeling himself to retreat when the doors fly open and Harvey barrels through, looking majorly annoyed. 

He stops when he sees Mike. "Hi, Trevor," he says. His smile is slower than his voice, but both creep up on Mike, startling him. 

"Hi, H--" 

"Do you have a stutter?" Harvey is asking when Mike gets back on track. 

"No," Mike says, giving Harvey a grin of his own. "You surprised me, Mr Paulsen, that's all." 

Harvey's grin changes in reaction to Mike's, getting smaller, closer, and Mike blinks and looks away before he gets distracted again. 

"Call me Don," Harvey says, the words like a splash of cold water. 

"And you call me--Trevor," Mike says. "As you just did." 

"That's a compliment," Harvey tells him. "I could be calling you peon. That's like 'associate', but lowlier." 

"That's possible?" 

"I'm glad you have a solid understanding of what you might be getting into, here," Harvey says. 

Mike wonders if there's any way he can conceivably stop listening to Harvey. His voice is more distracting than his stupid _face_. Mike's suddenly really glad they'd ruled out phone calls. He thinks they would've gotten awkward fast. 

Beyond the whole _lady, you sound like a dude_ thing. 

"I'd really like to get into your--" Mike starts earnestly, and then he's watching, horrified, as Harvey's smile turns edged and amused. "-- _firm_ ," he finishes in a squawk. "Into your _firm_." 

"I'm sure," Harvey says easily, because he is an arrogant _asshole_ like that. "Actually, peon, you're just who I was looking for." 

"I am?" 

"Well, I was looking for an associate, but they're all busy, so a peon will do." 

"What do you need?" Mike asks, watching the way Harvey slaps him on the back and puts a hand on his shoulder to steer him forwards, but doing nothing to stop it. 

"A peon," Harvey says brightly. "To help me--fetch. And choose. And _lift_." 

"I'm--" Mike watches as Harvey pushes him towards an ominous-looking black car. "--not getting abducted, am I? Or--are you a _company_ man company man?" He takes in Harvey's suit with new eyes. "Because this is starting to feel scarily like lawyerly rendition. No hoods!" 

Harvey pauses, and stares down at him. "I--don't want to know what you think you've done to deserve that," he says, and pushes Mike into the car. 

* 

Harvey's driver is very friendly, which is reassuring to Mike. He's pretty sure Ray isn't going to be helping Harvey bury any bodies. 

"Where are we going?" he asks, staring out the window at the streets as they speed by, the bustle and energy, fleeting, disconnected moments trapped by glass. "I don't really like driving." 

"You--" Harvey says incredulously. Car club, right. "I have a friend who bikes. Not _motor_ -bikes. Just _bikes_." 

"I take the train a lot," Mike lies. 

"He's an idiot," Harvey says, sounding unutterably fond. 

He's making it very difficult to remember to be angry.

"I like cool cars," Mike offers. 

"Hey!" Ray protests. "This is a good car!" 

"Sorry," Mike says, laughing. "I just meant--this isn't exactly the sort of car I expected to find Mr--" 

Mike hesitates for a fraction of a second before dredging _Paulsen_ up, and Harvey jumps in with, "Paulsen. Don't forget your potential employer's name, peon. I can demote you, you know." 

"From peon?" Mike asks, pretending not to notice Ray's surprised look at the name Harvey supplied him with, at the instruction implicit in it. 

"There's always somewhere lower to land," Harvey tells him. 

"Wow," Mike says. "Cheerful. That's the Christmas spirit." 

"I like Christmas." 

"Yeah," Mike says. "I hate it." 

"Oh," Harvey says, brow wrinkling. "My friend does too." 

And that's when they pull up in front of the Christmas tree lot. 

" _Seriously?_ " Mike asks again, trudging down the lines and lines and lines of trees. 

"It's for the office party," Harvey says. "And I don't have to explain myself." 

"Peon, I know." 

"And I'm not making my driver do this. That's your job now." 

"Delighted," Mike says, trying to decide whether he's more annoyed or charmed by Harvey. He distantly remembers feeling this way before, back when they'd started writing to each other. He remembers Harvey before the bluster and front broke away and you got through to the more beguiling assholery beneath. 

"You should be." 

" _Peon_ ," Mike says. "I _know_. What about this one?" 

"Too tall," Harvey decides. 

"How'd you get roped into this?" 

"The office lowlife is in charge of organising the party," Harvey tells him. "And the managing director thinks I need to learn to play nicely." 

"Maybe you do," Mike suggests. 

"You don't know Louis." 

Mike doesn't, but he knows LL, and he remembers Harvey telling him that Low Life was an appropriate nickname for more than one reason. 

"But if you're calling him a lowlife you're his superior, right?" 

"I've always called him a lowlife," Harvey says. 

Mike knows that's true, but he says, "Maybe she thinks it makes you look petty now." 

Harvey's jaw actually drops, face the picture of outrage, so before he can work up a decent head of steam, Mike gestures to a nearby tree. "This one?" 

"This--" Harvey's outrage changes direction, focussing on the yellowing, balding tree Mike is surveying. "Okay. I know you're fucking with me, rookie." 

"Yeah," Mike admits, grinning. 

Harvey takes it in good part, and the next tree Mike picks out is perfect, and he gets a look of guarded approval. 

"Not bad for a Scrooge," Harvey says. 

Mike swallows down the movie quote that springs to mind, because he isn't sure _Harvey_ could swallow that from him without gagging on it. 

"Your offices must be pretty big." 

"They are," Harvey agrees, "but we're doing it at the Chilton." 

"So wait, why are _we_ doing it? Don't hotels have people for this?" 

"Yours is not to question," Harvey says loftily. 

"You couldn't get an answer either?" Mike asks sympathetically. 

Harvey ignores the question, summoning the tree lady instead. 

"I gotcha," Mike says. 

"We should get you a flashing headband," Harvey throws back. "It's only appropriate." 

"No," Mike says firmly. "No. We should get you a Christmas tree. For your apartment." 

"I have a tree." 

"A real one?" 

"A very realistic fake one," Harvey says. 

"Real ones are better, though, right?" Mike asks, secure in the knowledge that Harvey thinks so. 

"Real trees shed." 

"Not all of them." Harvey just shrugs. Mike has never been able to get a reason Harvey doesn't get real trees every year, so he pushes, curious. "I'll help you carry yours too. Why don't we get one now?" 

"They die," Harvey says. "And then you have to get rid of them. It's too much hassle just for me." 

"Ah," Mike says. He isn't sure what to counter that with, so he watches while Harvey pays, and he watches while Harvey catches the tree when Mike fumbles it, while Harvey and Ray fasten it to the top of the car, and then he helps Harvey cram it into the elevator until Harvey decides he's being careless and breaking branches. 

So then he leaves Harvey to get it done and walks away reluctantly, walks all the way back to the hotel wondering how Trevor is getting on with Donna. 

* 


	5. Chapter 5

Harvey drops the tree off with Louis, who is harassing the staff of the Chilton and apparently about to lose his mind from the pressure of arranging a _Christmas party_ in a _hotel_ \--Harvey does understand what it is that hotels commonly do, _thank you_ , Trevor--goes back to work and gets a fuckton of paperwork done, and tries not to wonder how Donna and Mike's date is going until he gives up the ghost and signs into his email account. 

There are no new messages from Mike, so he begins to compose an email without letting himself second-guess anything. 

Words are scrolling across the screen when his office door opens, and he looks away from the blurry certainty of _long considered what would happen when we finally met_ to see Donna sidle sheepishly inside. 

"You're back early," he says matter-of-factly, still typing. 

"I punched him in the dick," Donna says in the same tone of voice. "And left. Sorry, Harvey." 

"You punched--" 

"It had to be done. He said something about my constant bitchiness being understandable due to my being female, or something more specific and disgusting of that nature. So I made him eat it." 

"Obviously," Harvey says, with the shadow of his usual grin. "And then you left." 

"He tried to fuck me first," Donna tells him apologetically. "Seriously, Harvey? _This_ douchebag?" 

"He's less of an irredeemable asshole in text," Harvey excuses, although he doesn't know why he's letting this guy get away with insulting Donna. 

He isn't _that_ into him. Besides, he's much less hot in person. Harvey wouldn't say he's proud of being a shallow dick, but only because he knows how people tend to react to that sort of statement. 

Harvey actually is proud of being a shallow dick. 

He starts to skim back over his email, gives up on wringing any sense out of it, hits send, and shuts the computer down decisively. 

Donna flickers relief at him when he crosses the room to join her, sliding a reassuring hand around her arm and steering her back out the door. "But let me buy you dinner to make up for it." 

"Excellent," Donna says jubilantly. "Wait, do I have to eat with _you_ , or..." 

"Want to resume your date?" 

"Fine," Donna admits. "I suppose you're better than Mike." 

* 

Trevor is drinking spiked eggnog at a pub down the street from the hotel when Mike slides into the booth across the table, checking his watch and cocking a sceptical eyebrow. "You got here before me?" 

"Yeah," Trevor says breezily. "Harley's secretary is way less open-minded than her letters led me to believe." 

" _Harvey's_ secretary," Mike corrects. "And those were Harvey's letters!" 

"Whatever." Trevor sparks his lighter and glances towards the smoker's door. "I can't be expected to keep that stuff straight, and I don't really care anyway, and she is even more boring than I had expected." 

"Did you ask her to put on an elf costume?" 

"No," Trevor says. "I asked if she'd mind if our waitress Jenny joined us in my room after her shift ended, and she totally lost her shit." 

"You--" 

"In a serious way, dude. Hard core." 

"I'm just checking here, but did you just make a serious attempt to get Harley to have sex with you?" 

"No," Trevor says. 

"Not serious," Mike clarifies. "It doesn't have to be serious. Any kind of attempt would count." 

"No, because she's not Harley," Trevor reminds him. "She's Donna. She's your dude's secretary. Nothing I might have convinced her to do would count." 

Mike finishes Trevor's eggnog in one long swig. 

"I ordered that for you, you know," Trevor tells him. "You were later than I thought you'd be." 

"Because you were earlier than I thought you'd be!" 

Trevor thumps him on the shoulder and gestures to the smoking area. It's cold outside, but it could never be cold enough to keep Mike away from blessed nicotine. He inhales shakily. 

"I am so fucked," he exhales, words drifting into the icy air and dissipating with the cloud of smoke. "I don't know what--I don't know fucking anything. I am screwed." 

"You talk to your guy yet?" Trevor asks, snagging the cigarette from Mike's fingers. 

"Harvey is not _my guy_ ," Mike says, annoyed. "Don't call him that." 

Trevor shrugs, giving Mike an easy grin. "Why do you care?" 

"I don't," Mike says in a low voice. 

Trevor's smile turns pitying, and when he holds the smoke up to Mike's lips, Mike takes it back without a word, fingers too tight on the butt. 

"Wait," Mike says. "We told them we were staying at the Chilton. We don't have a room at the Chilton." 

"Well, I got one," Trevor says. "Because _I_ have a job." 

"Right," Mike says wistfully, blinking at the hazy, glowing icicles hanging from the roof of the pub. "Of course." 

"Where was I going to take Donna?" 

"Right," Mike says again, grinding the half-finished cigarette out and turning for the door. "Of course." 

"Where do you think I took _Jenny?_ " 

"Ri--" Mike starts, and then his eyes widen. "Did Donna see you?" 

"She punched me in the balls," Trevor says ruefully. "I don't think she cares what I did after that." 

*

The next day, Trevor goes back to the restaurant to flirt with his new girl while she feeds him. Mike doesn't think waitressing counts as feeding, but Trevor is pretty adamant. 

Mike is at a loose end. He heads down the street for some more eggnog, and texts Trevor to check in. 

Trevor sends back, _fine why u asking dude? thought u taking care ur guy;)_

Mike takes Trevor's point, so he heads over to Pearson Hardman. He wanders around outside longer than he cares to admit to, going back and forth from the bike rack to the door before finally pushing through. He stops before reaching the reception desk, about to turn tail and go back outside, and then the elevator doors open and Harvey is striding towards him. 

He checks when he sees Mike, course corrects slightly, and sweeps Mike back out through the doors with him. 

"I'm on my way to lunch," he says. 

"That's--nice for you." 

Harvey pauses, already halfway into the town car from last night, which is just sitting at the curb like having your own private chauffeur is something that happens to real people. "You're coming," he tells Mike, apparently incredulous at having to explain himself. "Unless you have somewhere better to be, which we both know you don't." 

Harvey climbs the rest of the way into the car. Mike hesitates before following him, but he's kind of awed by the gall of the man, and it would take more resolve than he's got to resist; he's in the seat beside Harvey before he's quite sure what's happening. 

"Hi," he says awkwardly, trying not to be too obvious about his appraisal of the other man. 

Last night was one thing; away from the office and watching Harvey do something he knows the man enjoys, it was easy to see his friend in this liar, this stranger. But now he can see Harley in Harvey's confidence, in the evident pride he takes in his appearance, in his attitude, conveyed by his posture, by the arch of his eyebrows and the insultingly amused set of his mouth as he regards Mike. 

"Hi," he says sarcastically. "We've met." 

"We have met," Mike agrees, trying not to allow himself to become too distracted by anticipating the crap he thinks Harvey is about to send his way, trying not to let his eyes linger on the stretch of the seam of Harvey's pants. 

"We have friends in common, in fact," Harvey reminds him. "In a manner of speaking." 

"You disclaiming your friend or mine?" 

"Yours," Harvey says. 

"You seem to mean that really intensely based on a sixty second encounter." 

"I heard about the date." 

"Hey, nothing to do with me," Mike says, raising a hand to do his own disclaiming. "I certainly wouldn't advocate attempting to negotiate a threesome on a first date." 

Harvey's quirked eyebrows shoot up his forehead right before Mike's stomach sinks. "He _what?_ " 

"He doesn't--usually--do that--" 

"He doesn't," Harvey grinds out. "So I'm--So Harley's just special?" 

"Uh--" Mike tries. Harvey bites out a laugh. "I feel like this has gotten really off-track really qui--" 

"Who'd he even try to set that up with?" 

"The waitress," Mike blurts, and tries to make it better with, "But he's on a second date with her now, I swear to God, he isn't usually that awful," before remembering that Trevor usually _is_ that awful, and that Harvey maybe goes home with waitresses on the regular. 

"You know," Harvey says, "I don't come from the greatest background myself." 

"I know," Mike says, wincing as he cuts himself off. 

Harvey is still speaking, the slip going unnoticed. "So I understand coming up with some shitty friends. I do. But I think you're old enough to know better by now. Although I thought the same about myself, and I was wrong there." 

"T--He isn't a shitty friend," Mike says, words sounding desperate even in his own ears. 

"To you, maybe," Harvey says. Even that isn't true. "But the people we associate with reflect on us in ways we don't always realise. I was going to take you out to lunch to share some good news, but now I'd rather not." 

Harvey taps on the privacy screen, and as the car pulls up to the curb he throws open the door. 

"Wow," Mike says, climbing out. "Thanks, asshole." 

Harvey slams the door, and then lowers the window so that he can shout out at Mike. "I do still have to break that news, though," Harvey calls as the car pulls slowly away. "You've got the job. See you at the Christmas party." 

*


	6. Chapter 6

Mike is smoking out the window of the hotel room when Trevor gets back from lunch, leaning down over Mike's shoulder to steal a drag from the cigarette held loosely between his fingers. 

"Take the battery out of the smoke alarm, man," Trevor suggests. "Hell, this place is a shithole. It probably doesn't even work." 

That's true enough, but Trevor has a place that _isn't_ a shithole, and Mike can't help wondering why they aren't there instead, or why Trevor isn't, at any rate. 

"How'd things go with Jenny?" Mike asks. 

Trevor shrugs. "How'd things go with the suit?" 

"Seriously? I've seen you dressed for work." 

"It's a state of mind," Trevor says easily. "I'll never be a suit." 

"Fine," Mike says, eyes on the vague outline and dark colours of Trevor's foggy reflection in the glass. 

"You tell him?" 

"No." 

"You shouldn't. We should go home and forget about the whole thing." 

"Yeah," Mike says, thinking about doing that, thinking about not telling Trevor, about the job or the party or any of it. 

"You don't have to see him again," Trevor says. "You don't have to give yourself crap over it." 

"Yeah." Mike wouldn't say he's giving himself crap, but he does kind of feel terrible about everything. He's trying not to think about it. 

"'Cause I know you are, right?" Trevor shoves Mike's shoulder, grinning. "Don't do that." 

"Yeah," Mike says, abruptly feeling terrible about Trevor, as well. "I have to, though." 

"Hmm?" 

"I have to see him again," he admits reluctantly. "I got the job." 

"Oh." Trevor sounds surprised. 

"He told me to come to this Christmas party the firm is having--" Mike shakes his head, bewilderment making him turn instinctively to Trevor, his confident, assured presence. 

"Are you going to go?" 

"I don't--" 

"Are you going to take the job?" 

"I don't--" 

"You can't do that. You can't tell him, you can't--" 

"I don't know!" Mike explodes. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, okay?" 

It takes a couple seconds, but Trevor gives him a wry smile. "Same as it always was, huh?" 

"Yeah," Mike sighs, "yeah." He shifts restlessly, dissatisfaction thrumming through his veins, and asks, "So hey, can I borrow your hotel room at the Chilton?" 

"Gonna try and get Donna there yourself?" Trevor asks. "She isn't into it." 

"Party's at the hotel," Mike explains. 

He's still waiting for Trevor's answer when the smoke alarm goes off. 

"Shit!" In his rush to get the alarm shut off, Mike drops the remains of his cigarette to the floor in a flurry of glowing embers, backtracks and stamps everything out, and grabs his jacket from the bed, jumping and swatting at the wailing alarm. 

In the silence that follows, Trevor says, "Yeah, man. Of course," and Mike relaxes. 

*

"So, wait," Donna says. "You gave the best friend the job? Awkward." 

"Not awkward," Harvey says. "Why would it be awkward?" 

Donna considers that, and then brightly explains, "Because you've probably been halfway in love with the one dude for years, and now that you've discovered he's a dickhead loser you're choosing to face the second dude everyday for--reasons?" 

"He's a good candidate," Harvey says defensively. "The best candidate. His choice of friends doesn't have anything to do with it." 

"Hmm," Donna says. "So you like second dude, I get it. Anybody's better than Mike." 

"I don't like him," Harvey says. "Associates are zygotes. I don't have opinions on zygotes." 

"Okay," Donna says. "And are you going to make the whole office call you 'Don' going forward? Because I want to listen in on that conversation with Jessica." 

"Ha ha." 

"I know," Donna says, grinning, then sobers up. "But seriously." 

"Yes, seriously." 

"Are you ducking?" Donna asks. "Are you ducking my question?" 

Harvey doesn't duck questions, but he does duck out of his office and join Jessica as she strides past. It's just glorious happenstance that leaves Donna baffled, frustrated, and glaring at him, he swears. 

*

If Dante had ever experienced last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve, it would have been some level of hell, Mike is pretty sure. The Christmas songs pouring out of the speakers take on an unprecedented level of frenetic urgency, communicating itself to shoppers and staff, leaving everybody with a crazed glow behind the eyes. 

Mike thinks they should be red, for seasonal appropriateness and honesty, and then he stops thinking and dives out of the way of a granny pushing a shopping cart like it's a Bugatti she's determined to race at the fences. 

"Boom!" Mike mutters, as the cart collides with a display of Christmas slippers and a dozen stuffed meerkats spill out all over the floor. 

He gets Trevor a shirt and a bottle of Jack, expectations honed by years of past gift-giving. He considers getting Harvey a shirt as well, but he can't decide if he should give Harvey a gift at all, and he can't guess at his size, and anyway, a shirt Harvey would deign to wear is probably well beyond Mike's Christmas budget. It's getting that way with Trevor, too. 

Mike is heading back to the hotel in the early afternoon, shoving through the crowds, wandering down the line outside FAO Schwarz when he turns a corner and almost bumps into a teenage girl leaning halfway out of a door, breath turning to frost in the icy air, mixing with the smoke. 

Mike sticks his head back around the corner and stares at the line, then looks back at the girl. 

"Hey, uh--" 

The girl rolls her eyes, finishes her cigarette, and lets him slip inside. 

"I don't think I'd queue for this," Mike decides, staring around at the chaos. It's some kind of candy-cane nightmare, all fevered activity and riotous bustle. Mike's pretty sure he sees at least one mother on the verge of losing her actual mind, and when a father burst into tears because the Wii game he's looking for is sold out, he can only hope they have psychiatrists on standby at the exits. 

Mike strolls through the store, looking around. It's a lot less magical than he remembers, and he isn't sure if things have changed or if he's just gotten old and cynical. 

He's on his way out the door when he sees one last display, on its last legs, the last of the stock picked through and out of order. He turns the stand until he finds what he's looking for, and stands in the never-ending line for the checkouts for what feels like eternity. 

When he tumbles out into the chilly twilight, store still in panic mode behind him, he checks his pocket for Trevor's keycard, and sprints to the Chilton. 

Trevor's room here is so much nicer than the one he's sharing with Mike that Mike wonders again--not why they hadn't gotten a room here to begin with, because Trevor is doing Mike a favour here, lending his identity and qualifications so Mike can commit fraud against a bunch of high-priced lawyers, and Mike is paying for the trip, that had been the deal, but--why Trevor is still sharing that poky place with Mike when he could be here. 

He doesn't have time to think about it; he throws open the wardrobe to see if this place has an iron so he can press the creases out of his suit, and a spare suit of Trevor's is hanging inside like he knew Mike would need it, so Mike pulls it down and changes. It doesn't fit perfectly, too wide across the shoulders, a little too long in the leg, but he can get away with it. 

He dithers as he leaves, hesitating over the golden giftbag, wondering whether he should bring it, give it to Harvey, or whether that's an idiotic idea, the worst he's ever had. 

There's competition there, but this one might be able to take the crown. 

He pauses, hand stretched out, and then he grabs the bag and leaves. He's late. 

The party is just starting to pick up when he arrives, awkward singles tripping through the doors, clumps of people pushing inside in twos and threes, a gaggle of people who are obviously the associates showing up in one large, defensive mass. 

Donna is standing by the wall with someone Mike marks down as a paralegal, wearing something shorter and tighter and sparklier than any of the lawyers could get away with. 

Mike braces himself, and joins them. 

"Hi," she says thoughtfully. "Rachel, this is the new associate. He's the nice one. Is Mike with you?" 

"No," Mike says. 

"Mike's the douchebag," Donna tells Rachel, and then tells Mike, "It's less a matter of let's pretend we didn't, and more a matter of, we didn't, and I don't ever want to. Never ever. Neither does--well, that isn't important." 

"It isn't?" 

"No," Donna says innocently, and her eyes narrow on Mike. "Why do you ask?" 

"No reason," Mike says. "You know, you're just as described." 

Donna pauses, lifting her chin. "I am?" 

"Better." 

"I like him," Rachel tells Donna. "We should keep him." 

"I don't think that's up to us," Donna says slowly. "And are you?" 

"Am I what?" Mike asks. 

"Are you as described," Donna says, testing the waters. 

"Mostly," Mike says ruefully, catching sight of Harvey across the room and drifting away from Donna as he speaks. 

Harvey sees him before he arrives, and Mike can pinpoint the moment the man speaking to Harvey loses the fraction of Harvey's attention he had, all of it zeroing in on Mike, and it's a heady rush that keeps Mike moving forwards, lets him dismiss the doubts clamouring to be heard. 

"Nice tree," Mike says, and Harvey looks up reflexively, smiling at the lights, at the ornaments shining on the boughs. "I like how the branches _aren't_ broken. That was a good choice you made with the transportation." 

"This is not a good tree," the other man says. "I wanted miniature legal handbooks as baubles and Justice at the top. Not a star! We are lawyers, how is having a star at the top of our tree appropriate?" 

"Louis thinks you're dim," Harvey tells a woman walking past, and leaves Louis spluttering excuses at her as he draws Mike away. 

"So, Trevor," Harvey says. "I was kind of a hardass yesterday." 

"Ah," Mike says, mind divided between the desire to correct Harvey on his _name_ and thoughts of Harvey's _ass_. 

"And I'm not apologising, because everything I said was true, but there's a reason you got the job, and I don't want personal concerns interfering with that. I believe you could be an excellent lawyer--" 

"I will be," Mike interjects. 

"--and based on our interaction, I want you in the firm." 

"Oh," Mike says. Harvey has directed them around the other side of the Christmas tree, and Mike can still hear Harvey's companion, useless, desperate bluster drifting through the branches of the tree, but he can't see anyone, because Harvey is standing close, demanding the whole of Mike's attention, filling all his senses. His eyes catch on the crisp, clean lines of Harvey's waistcoat, the rise and fall of the cloth, and the musky, woodsy scent of Harvey's aftershave makes his mouth water. 

Harvey moves even closer, shoulder brushing against Mike, low voice dropping as he says, "I don't want you thinking I'm going to allow your friendships to affect our relationship." 

"Ah," Mike says again, "That's good." 

His voice is maybe a little high, breathing a little uneven, but that's no reason for the sudden awareness springing to life in Harvey's eyes, dark and liquid and warm on Mike's face, as warm as his hands on Mike's arms, closing gently around Mike's shoulders. 

"I'm going to teach you everything you need to know," Harvey says. "--about how to wear a suit." 

"It isn't mine," Mike admits. 

"That's actually a relief." 

"I got you a present," Mike tries. 

"Did you," Harvey says, richly amused. "Associates don't get presents. But next year you'll get a bonus." 

Harvey's hands are heavy on Mike through the fabric of the suit, and his face is still tilted down, and if Mike lifted his head their skin would be touching, they would be kissing, he knows. 

He doesn't lift his head. 

"I'm not a waitress," he says, strangled. "I'm not--" 

"I know," Harvey says, and his voice is gentle, but he doesn't know, he _doesn't_. 

"I got you a present," Mike repeats, pushing the shiny gold bag at Harvey. 

Harvey doesn't take it, just says, "You have a room, right?" 

Mike breathes out, steps back, and takes Harvey upstairs. 

*


	7. Chapter 7

Mike is still breathing when he gets the keycard in the slot and the door flies open, but Harvey's mouth is on his neck, and he's gasping in great, heaving breaths of air, heady and wild. Stumbling backwards towards the bed, Mike finds himself wishing that the hotel room weren't quite so big, but then his thighs hit the mattress and he's falling onto the bed, and he wouldn't wish for anything else. 

Mike shivers when Harvey's mouth leaves his skin, but before he can miss it, Harvey's fingers are on his jaw, tilting his face so that Harvey can kiss him. It's the first time they've touched. 

But that's blown away by the kiss, by Mike squirming around under Harvey's body, throwing a leg up over Harvey's hips, working them closer, always closer. Harvey's hands move to Mike's hips, lifting him off the bed and changing the angle of his body, settling them down together, and Mike groans as the kiss turns dirty and deep, as Harvey begins to move. 

"That's a nice bow tie," he says, laughter catching in his throat. "You going to teach me how to do that too?" 

That actually makes Harvey pause, makes him prop himself up on his elbows so that he can stare down at Mike. "You don't know how?" he asks, like that's completely bizarre, like Mike has just admitted to not knowing how to tie his--

The laugh makes it all the way out this time. "Shoelace knot, right?" Mike asks affectionately. "I know." 

Harvey's face flickers, but he drops back onto Mike quicker than thought, sending his present tumbling out of its bag, off the side of the bed onto the floor. 

"I'm hoping you know more than that," he says, teeth nipping at Mike's mouth, down his throat, and Mike's hands are pushing under Harvey's jacket, pulling his shirt loose and touching down on the warm skin at his waist, but when Harvey's teeth set themselves lightly into Mike's jugular, Mike's fingers, shoving roughly beneath the waistband of Harvey's pants, lose their way, lose track, nails digging deeply into the skin at the base of Harvey's spine, so Harvey is the one who gets somewhere first, quick fingers slipping buttons loose even as Harvey rocks against him, exactly the way Mike needs. 

Mike's head is thrown back, and he's blinking and shuddering at the white stretch of ceiling above him as Harvey parts his shirt and spans Mike's waist with his hands, puts his hot mouth right on Mike's nipple and sucks deeply, and at first Mike thinks the pounding is in his head, is in reaction to what Harvey's doing, and then the door opens. 

"Oh, hell," Donna says, over Trevor's shoulder, and Mike can feel Harvey shaking with laughter against his body. 

"Come on, Mike," Trevor says. 

It takes a second for Mike to realise why Harvey stops moving, why Harvey pulls away, and then Harvey's feet are on the floor and he's staring down at the side of the bed. 

"I have the key," Mike protests. "How did you even get in here?" 

"I have ID," Trevor says. "They gave me another one. It's my room!" 

Harvey is a mess, all rumpled disarray, looking like sin in his ruined tux, but at least he's still wearing all his clothes. Mike starts buttoning himself up, but he's distracted by all the people watching him do it. 

"Hi," he says to the blonde girl hovering in the doorway. "Who are you?" 

"I'm Jenny," she says, smiling widely, before flicking it off like hitting a switch. "I don't know why I'm here." 

"She's with me," Trevor says. "This is Jenny." 

"I'm not with you," Jenny tells him. "You just wouldn't stop bothering me at work." 

"But you--" 

"Guys won't believe that if you go on a date with 'em to break the news," Donna advises. "They'll just think they need to take you somewhere nicer." 

"Yeah," Jenny says awkwardly. "This was not fun. Stop bugging me. Nice to meet you, Mike." And she disappears. 

"Bye," Mike calls, though she's gone. 

"I should go too," Donna says. "I just came up because this one was looking for this one, and I was expecting some kind of napalm thing and thought I should be here for damage control, but things seem to be working themselves out here, so I'll just--" 

Harvey is bending down, reaching into a froth of red tissue paper, and pulling out his gift. It's a Christmas tree decoration, a Santa on a Christmas stocking, and it has Harvey's name on it. 

"--go now." 

"That's not meant for the office tree," Mike says weakly. "Even though yours is plastic I thought--

"Mike," Harvey says slowly, and turns to look at him. "You're Mike." 

"Ah--" 

"I see you two have met," Donna says hopefully. 

"--yes. I was going to tell you--" 

" _Were_ you." 

"You were kind of insistent on taking our clothes off first." Mike looks down at his shirt; he's done the buttons up wrong, and he'll have to start again. 

"You lied to me," Harvey says tightly. 

Mike doesn't look up from his buttoning, but he can see Harvey's fingers tighten on the decoration. 

"Seriously?" Donna asks, deeply annoyed. 

"Seriously!" 

"Because you did too, pot." 

Harvey gestures furiously at Mike. "Not to him!" 

"Yes you did," Donna says. "Don't quibble." 

"But I didn't know. He _knew_ , and he just-- _lied_ to me about it, like this was some kind of _joke_ , like it didn't--" 

Mike can finish that sentence, though Harvey doesn't, and he stumbles to his feet, abandoning his impossible buttons. "Hey," he protests, but Donna is speaking. 

"Oh, please. This is why I came up, this is what I was afraid of, that you wouldn't be able to handle this, that you wouldn't be able to handle--" 

"What, Donna?" Harvey asks sharply. "Wouldn't be able to handle what?" 

"Being on the outside," she says. "Not being the inside man, the one in control and--" 

"And you knew," Harvey says, sounding more betrayed than he has yet. "Of course you knew. You didn't tell me." 

Donna's face blanches as Mike watches. "I would have!" she objects. "I figured it out, like, twenty _minutes_ ago, Harvey." 

"She didn't even know, she just guessed," Mike offers. 

He wishes he hadn't spoken when Harvey turns on him. 

"You didn't even go to Harvard, liar," Harvey says. "And I chose you for this position. What, was I going to get to the office on Monday and find this asshole sitting at your desk?" 

"No," Mike says. "No, uh--I had fake ID, I was going to--" 

"I'd rather look at his stupid face than yours right now," Harvey says evenly, and to Trevor, "Offence meant." 

"Taken," Trevor says. 

"But we can--" 

"Stop talking," Harvey says, voice calm, everything about him levelling out, giving the lie to his wrecked outfit, to the fury still roiling in his eyes. "I don't want to hear it. We can't." 

"You're overreacting," Mike says carefully, and flinches when Harvey snaps the decoration still in his hand in Mike's direction, sending it skidding into the bedclothes, lost somewhere in the disaster they've made of everything. 

"I don't have anywhere to hang that," Harvey says lightly, insincerely. "Sorry." 

He leaves. 

Donna sends Mike a spooked look and hurries after him. Mike drops back onto the bed and lets his fingers burrow through the rucked bedclothes until they glance against something hard and he pulls out his gift to Harvey. The mattress sinks as Trevor sits down beside him. 

"Told you," he says. 

"Yeah," Mike says sarcastically, the pad of his finger rubbing over Harvey's name. "Thanks." 

"He's a douchebag." 

"Yeah," Mike says. "I know." 

*


	8. Chapter 8

Harvey has slammed back into the ballroom and is knocking back a glass of Dom when Donna catches up with him. 

"You know that kid's slapping you with a sexual harassment lawsuit after that stunt you just pulled, right?" she asks. "He's an associate, he's not dumb." 

"He's not an associate," Harvey tells her, and plucks another glass from the hovering tray, ignoring the smiling waitress. 

"Harvey," Donna says. "I know you know how stupid that was." 

"So this conversation isn't going to be about how stupid that was," Harvey says impatiently. "Can you get on with your reaming so I can drink myself into a stupor in peace?" 

"You lied," Donna says. "Why wouldn't he?" 

"I don't care," Harvey says, face hard, still in the heights of temper. "I wouldn't have lied to him." 

"You lied to Trevor." 

"I wouldn't have lied to him if I had discovered that he had been lying to me," Harvey specifies, tightening his mouth even as he swills his drink. 

"Can we just acknowledge how ridiculous this crap is and get over it?" 

"No," Harvey says petulantly. 

"Right, I get it," Donna says. "Because obviously you're totally fine with the fact that you cared enough about some kid to lie to him for years on end so that he wouldn't get mad and dump you, and it's only the fact that he did the same to you that's a problem." 

Harvey's jaw twitches, but he doesn't speak. 

"And what, you think if you could've managed this you could have made it all okay somehow, like if you're running the show there's no way Mike's going to be hurt or angry or _you're_ going to get hurt, because if the greatest closer this city has ever seen is in charge nothing can go wrong, right? And the thing is? He doesn't even need to be closed." 

"I don't want to talk about this."

"He got you that thing with your name on it," she reminds him. "You know, the Christmas gift that you just flung into his face? He was going to tell you." 

"You don't know that." 

"It's the presumption. I get why he did it, you know," she says conversationally. 

"What?" 

"I mean, you sent him a picture of me. Me!" Harvey starts to roll his eyes, catches himself. "What were you thinking? Skinny little kid like that. You probably gave him a whole new complex." 

Harvey starts to tell her that Mike isn't skinny, but he gets a flash of Mike's bared torso underneath him, pale and slight and restless until Harvey had grabbed Mike's waist to hold him still, keep him where Harvey had wanted him, and his hands had almost swallowed Mike up. "He isn't a kid," he says instead. His voice is too thick. 

"Jesus, what the hell were you thinking," Donna mutters. "Some random associate? Really? Not even a junior partner, senior." 

"It's Mike," Harvey mutters back. "Mike doesn't count." 

"If you say so," Donna sings back sweetly. "Boss." 

"It's Christmas," Harvey says after a moment. "That's an excuse." 

"I'm taking away your JD," Donna tells him. Harvey scoffs. "Okay," she allows. "I'm taking away your _bachelor's_." 

Harvey can't actually argue that, but he can't really regret anything either. 

*

"We should get a cab," Trevor suggests when they've walked a couple blocks back towards Mike's hotel. 

Mike doesn't normally take cabs in the city, but he doesn't have the will to argue it right now, so he slows his pace until Trevor eventually flags one down. He stares out the window while Trevor makes small talk with the driver about the unaccustomed emptiness of the roads, what time he's heading home. 

When Trevor says, "You're better off without him," it takes Mike a moment to realise he's being addressed. 

"Oh. Yeah." 

"What would you even have to talk to that guy about? And after so long, man, how do you not just run out of shit to say." 

"Still talk to you," Mike says. 

"And you're just starting your career, you don't need to be all hung up on this." 

Mike feels a spark of anger towards Trevor, with his job and his plans and the ease with which he's achieved things he's never even wanted, really, but a chill douses it when he realises that he isn't actually starting his career, because he doesn't have a job. 

He doesn't have a job, or a plan, or any reason to see Harvey ever again, and even if by some miracle Mike managed to get a job in the city, Harvey isn't going to want to have any contact with him, isn't ever even going to write to him again. 

He pulls his phone out and pulls up his email, wanting to read the last message Harvey had sent him, a vaguely panicked response to Mike's detailing of his upcoming trip. 

There's a new message. 

"We don't have any associate openings, but I can check and see if there's anything else," Trevor is saying, but Mike isn't listening: he's reading. 

Harvey had written, _I remember when you used to say we would meet someday, because we saw the same moon and the same stars and that meant the distance between us wasn't very great at all, and I told you that was bullshit, because I might not have been living in Australia and looking at different constellations, but we were still too far away from each other._

_I met you today, and I'm not going to lie and tell you this isn't something I've wanted for years, but I never wanted this. I never wanted to feel like it didn't matter, to look at you and see a stranger and know that you would look at me and see the same._

_You are with someone else now, and it does not matter, because you do not know me, you cannot know me, and I cannot tell you that I know you. You would not forgive me._

_You are not who I expected, and it does not matter. I miss you._

"Did you get me a bottle of something?" Trevor asks. "Because I was planning on spending tomorrow with Jenny, but now I guess we'll be stuck in the hotel room all day." 

"Your aunt still lives here," Mike says, hands cupping his phone, fingers touching the smooth, blurring screen gingerly. 

"Yeah, she keeps texting me about dinner, but I don't like her that much, I don't even know how she got my number." 

"I'm going to go and see Harvey," Mike says abruptly. 

"Why would you do that?" 

"I have to," he says impatiently. "I don't know where he lives." 

"You could just go back to the party and finish your fight in front of everyone." 

"Nah," Mike says. "I'll just call Donna." 

Donna had refused to give Trevor her number, so Mike has to call the Chilton and tell the receptionist that Donna's sister's husband got a sack of presents stuck in the chimney and they are having a three-alarm gifting emergency, but she does eventually come to the phone and cough up Harvey's address. 

"You realise I'm paying for this cab," Trevor complains. 

"Yeah," Mike says. "Thanks, buddy." 

And then he directs the cab driver to the Christmas tree lot. 

Cab drivers don't like tying Christmas trees onto their vehicles, but Trevor has a credit card that can cover a lot of damage. 

"This is ridiculous," Trevor says, watching Mike drag the tree towards Harvey's building. "Why am I letting you do this?" 

"You can't stop me," Mike says. 

"I should." 

"You should stop trying." 

Trevor doesn't acknowledge that, but he does make a half-hearted attempt to pick up the base of the tree and help get it indoors. 

They would have had more success with that if the doorman was willing to let them within five feet of the place. 

"I don't have any tree deliveries scheduled," he says, glaring. "And Mr. Specter is not in." 

"It's fine," Mike says breathlessly. "It's okay, it's fine." 

"The cab's gone, but if we dump the tree we can grab another one," Trevor says. 

"You are _not_ dumping that tree on me," the doorman says. 

"I have everything I need," Mike says. "It's fine." 

"We are not _setting up this tree on the street outside his building!_ " Trevor yelps. "Oh my _God are you crazy_." 

"You should call your aunt while I do this," Mike says. "I'm not sure what I'm going to be doing tomorrow." 

"Are you _ditching me on Christmas?_ " 

"Maybe," Mike admits. "Depends how this goes." 

Trevor fusses, and he refuses to help Mike decorate the tree with the stuff he picked up at the lot, but he doesn't make too many disparaging remarks, and he doesn't comment at all when Mike hangs Harvey's decoration. 

"Okay," Mike says, exhaling, looking up at the finished product. "Uh, maybe you should go, man." 

"You don't even know if Harvey's coming back tonight," Trevor says. "Maybe he picked somebody up at the party." 

"Not tonight," Harvey says, and Trevor and Mike both jump, spinning around to find Harvey staring up at the tree. 

"I had nothing to do with this!" Trevor tells him, and bolts for a cab. 

"I--" Mike starts, and suddenly has no idea how to finish. 

"I don't apologise," Harvey says. "So I'm not going to apologise. I'm just going to--say--sorry." 

"Yeah," Mike says. "I forgive you." 

Harvey freezes, face utterly startled, and moves closer to the tree, not looking at Mike. The fairylights are glowing against the overcast sky. 

"And I'm sorry too." 

Harvey nods, acknowledging, and slowly says, "I may have overreacted. I was--" 

Mike doesn't make him finish that sentence. "Never!" he says. "When would you ever? This is an entirely new side to you that I have never had any inkling of before _ever_." 

"Funny," Harvey says waspishly. 

"I'm a funny guy." Mike's expecting a rejoinder, but Harvey just drifts over and lifts a hand so that he can trace a finger over the name on his decoration. "No harm done." 

"Mmm." He turns away from the tree and looks at Mike, and suddenly Mike can't look at him. "I didn't intend to lie to you for all that time," Harvey says, precise and deliberate. "But I liked our relationship and I didn't want it to change. I can understand why you might have had some difficulty deciding what to do." 

"I'm--" Mike starts awkwardly. "I was mad. Because I cared about you, and I felt like you took that away from me. But you didn't. I still care about you. And I realise I kind of screwed things up for you with the identity theft and everything, but I'm hoping you won't, you know, report me to the bar association or anything, because I would really like to get a job in New York so that I can--stay. Here. Because I would miss you too. I would really--" 

"You read my email," Harvey says. He sounds amused, which is probably the best Mike could have hoped for. 

"Yeah. It was okay, I guess. We can work on your declarations of interest in various things. Like, I would really like it if we went inside right now and finished what we started earlier. It would be helpful to me if you would say stuff like that. Right now, for preference." 

"I didn't file the paperwork yet," Harvey says, apropos of nothing. 

"Huh?" 

"For the job. It's still yours, if you want it." 

"I didn't go to Harvard." 

"You found one way to get around that," Harvey says. "You can't find another?" 

"I can," Mike says slowly, excitement rising. "So we'll work together, we'll--" 

"I'll be your direct superior," Harvey says repressively. 

Mike shrugs himself into the line of Harvey's body. "What's one more infraction?" 

Harvey breathes out sharply, and Mike knows he's won before Harvey says, "You always were trouble. I don't know why I--" His hand settles on Mike's shoulder. 

"You like trouble," Mike says, and stretches up until Harvey moves to meet him, until he's opening Harvey's mouth with his own and kissing him, sure and easy for the first time. It's a good kiss, lush and lulling until Mike presses deeper, tests to see how far Harvey will let him take this, and Harvey's hands shift uncertainly against Mike's sides, but they find somewhere to steady themselves and then the shifting movements turn to a stroke and Mike is shaking a little as he moves closer, and Harvey is letting him in, letting him sink teeth into his mouth and lick roughly over all the soft places he wants to taste, sucking on Mike's tongue and asking for more. 

"God help me," Harvey says, dragging his mouth away, and jogs up the steps that lead to his building, not bothering to check if Mike is following. 

Mike bumps into him when he stops, turning to look back at the tree. 

"How tall is that?" 

"Uh--" 

"Do you think that will fit into my apartment, Tony?" Harvey calls to the doorman. 

"We have a saw in the office," Tony decides. 

"Now?" Mike asks. "Because I was hoping for sex now and Christmas tomorrow." 

"Not if you want sex tomorrow too," Harvey says. 

And then makes learning how to shorten a Christmas tree totally worth Mike's while. 

end.


End file.
